Fix You
by parttimeficwriter
Summary: Set between 8.8 and 9.1. Harry and Ruth.


**Set between 8.8 and 9.1. **

**It wasn't really supposed to end as it has done and no matter how I try I can't make it go where I'd originally intended which has annoyed me no end as I should have been writing an essay for uni instead of writing fic! Anyway, I hope it still works, thanks for reading!**

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_When you try your best, but you don't succeed_  
_When you get what you want, but not what you need_  
_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_  
_Stuck in reverse_

_And the tears come streaming down your face_  
_When you lose something you can't replace_  
_When you love someone, but it goes to waste_  
_Could it be worse?_

_Lights will guide you home_  
_And ignite your bones_  
_And I will try to fix you_

_Coldplay – 'Fix You'_

It has been a very long day, he thinks, as he rubs the back of his hand over his weary face. His gaze automatically surveys the partially lit expanse of the Grid and comes to a lingering halt at a familiar desk. His heart lurches slightly to find that her seat is empty and feels the disappointment rising in his chest at the thought that she has left without wishing him goodnight. He leans back in his chair and ponders the ridiculousness of a 56 year old man hurting from such a simple thing as her absence. He thinks back to a time, not so many years ago, that involved a similar nightly ritual of longing looks between his desk and hers and wonders, not for the first time, if they are ever destined to break free of this cycle of loving one another from afar. Feeling increasingly maudlin and irritated with himself he leans forward to reach or a different file when he notices that her coat is still hanging loosely on the back of her chair.

Somehow, without too much thought, he finds himself stepping out onto the roof of Thames House, knowing instinctively that this is where she will be. The harsh wind that whips against his face as he steps out from the stairwell only emboldens him further and his grip on the coat in his hands tightens reflexively. She isn't hard to find and, for a brief moment, he allows himself to indulge in watching her openly as she leans against the railings and looks out across the city. He's not sure what tips her off but suddenly she moves and he finds himself moving towards her self-consciously, aware of her eyes watching his every motion.

"You'll catch you're death out here," he says, gruffly, but not without affection, as he drapes her forgotten coat around her shoulders.

"I wasn't intending to be out here long." It's not much by way of an explanation but he understands, probably more than she realises, how easy it is to get lost in your thoughts up here at night. He stands beside her, slightly awkwardly, and watches as she gratefully slips her arms inside the coat and wraps it tightly around her small frame. "Thank you," she says, softly, and graces him with the most genuine smile he has seen from her in some time.

"You're frozen, Ruth," he announces, as she shivers violently, and unconsciously reaches out for her hand. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he cups both hands around her left one before bringing it to his lips and breathing warm puffs of air on to her icy fingers.

"You have warm hands," she observes, enjoying the feel of his broad, masculine hands against her skin. Her skin has started to tingle and she knows that he is more to blame for it than the cold is. Gently, he places her hand back by her side and then repeats his warming process on the other one.

"Warm hands," he murmurs and she's almost certain that his lip brushes her thumb as he speaks, "cold heart." His words are delivered with a flicker of a smile but it never reaches his eyes. She holds his gaze and swears that, in that moment, she sees the real Harry Pearce. The man who lays underneath the harsh, Spook exterior, the man whose gentle soul seems irreparably damaged somehow. He swallows hard, feeling exposed suddenly, and tears his gaze away; turning to look out across the London skyline. She can tell from the way his jaw is set that he is valiantly trying to hide his despair and shame and, for the first time in what seems like a life time, she feels no guilt in wanting to comfort him.

"Don't," she commands, softly, as her hand reaches up to squeeze his arm.

"Don't what?" he asks, defiantly.

She tugs on his arm, hard, pulling him off balance until he has no option but to turn and face her again. "Don't hide from me, Harry." His eyes hold a mixture of irritation and vulnerability and she feels her heart ache for him. "Please," she whispers, imploringly, and is relieved when he doesn't pull away from her. Her fingers, trembling now, reach up and trace slowly down the side of his jaw as she looks at him intently. She can feel her eyes filling with tears at the sadness radiating from him and swallows hard against the lump forming in her throat. "Did I do this to you?" she asks, her voice cracking with emotion at the thought.

She can see him warring with himself; desire not to lie to her weighing heavily against his need to protect her, always, even from himself. "Not all by yourself, no," he answers, eventually, settling for a half truth and she sees, with startling clarity, how much he truly cares for her. He has tried to protect her, she thinks, to keep her safe for as long as she can remember and somehow it has broken him. This formidable, beautiful man who has faced treachery and deceit for longer than she has known him has started to come apart and she knows now that she is the reason. She's the one that finally got to him.

"Always trying to protect me," she murmurs, softly, fingers still stroking his cheek as tears spill from her eyes, "I don't know why you bother, Harry," she says, shamefaced.

"Yes, you do," he replies, softly and she has the good grace to blush.

"I never meant to hurt you," she whispers, breath hitching as her thumb traces his bottom lip.

"I know," he assures her, drawing his lips against her thumb as he speaks.

"Am I too late?" she asks, fearful of what his answer might turn out to be despite the light suddenly shining in his eyes.

"No," he says, hoarsely and then clears his throat as he takes her hand from his face and interlaces his fingers with hers. He takes a moment to look out across the city and gather himself before turning back to her, a gentle smile on his face. "You were worth the wait, Ruth."

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Please review and let me know what you think.


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